Olympus
by starsarewrong
Summary: Reyna Ramirez-Arellano has been working at Olympus for years. Still, she's never seen someone who's so fond for books as the young man who's just entered the bookshop. And above all, Reyna has never met someone who, like Jason - that is his name -, shares so many dreams and passions with her. Bookshop AU. Jeyna.
1. I - The Old Man and the Sea

Hi everyone again! It's been a long time since I've published my last fic/update, and I haven't been writing for a while, actually. I hope you will enjoy this new fic of mine anyway. I'm sorry if there are some mistakes, I've just translated this doc as quickly as I could because today I suddenly wanted to publish something, so. And, I think that's it. This is a bookshop AU because I love reading and because I'm such a nerd for classical books I wanted Jason and Reyna to be, too. his fic is going to be much more simple than my other fic (especially _Vices & Virtues_), and I think I'm going to focus more on Jason and Reyna's relationship than other plots. I hope you'll like that. Please read and review to let me know what you think about this fic, it would mean so much to me!

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**Chapter I**

_**The Old Man and the Sea**_

* * *

Reyna heard the door bell jingling for the first time after Annabeth Chase had left the store a few hours earlier.

It was a warm late spring day, with the first sun warming the atmosphere after uninterrupted rain battered the Old Town centre of San Francisco for nearly a full month. And, actually, Reyna didn't expect customers.

She leaned out of the mahogany desk towards the entrance of the bookstore, trying to see the person who had just entered the room and whose steps on the stone floor, decisive but not heavy, echoed among the walls covered with shelves. She smiled at the young face of a young man in his early, perhaps middle twenties, standing in front of the novelty table, looking, among the various tomes, for something that might interest him.

The girl cleared her voice. "Good evening," she said, trying not to seem too surprised by a customer's presence at that time, "Can I help you?"

The boy turned to her with an almost surprised expression. He probably didn't expect Reyna to talk. No one did. All her costumers, the first time they entered the Olympus, expected her to sit in her chair behind the dusty desk, her face hidden behind one of those little books she kept in a tidy pile on the counter. He took a few steps towards her, and when he had focused on the face of the girl who had spoken to him, he began to smile.

"It's a beautiful place," he muttered, his gaze lost among the multitude of shelves that divided the two floors of the bookshop into parallel corridors.

The girl studied the stranger's face, light eyes, blond hair and lips curled in a smile that seemed completely authentic. "Thank you," she replied, after making sure the compliment was sincere. "All the books you see are second-hand volumes, at least. Some have even gone through three or four generations. In the first two corridors from the right there are historical essays or biographies, while the rest is all dedicated to fiction, classical or contemporary."

He tilted his head. "Are they all second-hand books?" he asked, as if that information sounded particularly strange to him. "I didn't think there could be such a place, actually."

Reyna was going to tell him that if a bookshop full of second-hand tomes didn't suit him, he could just go out and look for another one that would sell volumes of freshly printed paper, books that were all the same and that didn't even have a little history in them. That she didn't care about the opinions of the others, and that, in spite of anything he was going to say, she wouldn't change her mind. After all, she was used to being told that an activity like hers couldn't last long, that she had to find another job, and that her project would not work. That's exactly what she had argued with her mother years before. And, if she hadn't been discouraged by the woman she valued most in the world, she wouldn't let the innocent face-stranger on duty get her discouraged.

But there was no need.

"It's..." The boy looked into her eyes, expressing all the surprise he had in his body. "It's a great place. Really," he hurriedly added, as if he believed that statement, said by him, might arouse suspicion.

Reyna didn't know how to answer. _Really?_, she wanted to ask him, but she didn't. She didn't want to make him believe that even she, among all those who had passed and never got back in there, didn't like that bookstore. "Do you need anything?" she asked instead, turning to look at her stack of books she had to inventory that stood on the counter, towering over the computer and the two newspapers, the _New York Times _and the _San Francisco Chronicles_, which she bought every day to provide them to her customers.

The boy approached her with a quick step, reaching her and resting his right hand on the woody surface of Reyna's desk. "To tell the truth, yes," he replied, studying the furniture of the wall behind the counter, decorated with a bunch of frames in which the most famous quotes that had been said about reading had been printed. "I was looking for Giovanni Verga's _I Malavoglia_. I think I've entered all the bookstores in the city by now, and I couldn't find it."

Reyna shook her head. "I know," she muttered, "It's hard to find anything that hasn't been written in English." She remembered perfectly when, as a young girl, she had wandered all over the city in search of any edition of Dostoyevsky's _Notes from Underground_, which, in the end, she had it to be shipped directly from England by her sister, who studied at Oxford University. She had had to wait for weeks before she could shake in her hands a second or third-hand tome with the English translation opposite to the original text. "Come with me."

She led him to the top of the spiral staircases and then down the third aisle on the second floor, near one of the many sofas under the small windows of the room that Reyna had bought to make the environment more comfortable.

She stood on her tiptoes, stretching an arm to reach the highest shelf, where, usually, she put the oldest and most delicate volumes to keep them out of reach of customers not interested in buying them, which could simply ruin them.

"Here it is," she finally exclaimed, showing the boy an aged book whose black cover featured, printed in large letters, the title of the novel.

He took it in his hands, examining the front and back of the cover, then quickly opened it and browsed the yellowish pages, getting intoxicated by the pungent smell of ancient paper. "That's great," he said, closing the book and holding it in his hands, as if he were afraid of losing it and having to start all over again. "Thank you."

Reyna tilted her head, in a mute _Don't mention it_ she hoped he would pick up. She looked around for a second before turning around and going back the path she had taken to get the young man that copy of_ I Malavoglia_, feeling his presence constantly a few steps behind her back.

"Wait!" The blonde's voice almost gave her quite a scare. Reyna turned around. He was in the middle of the hallway of shelves, standing in front of a shelf that, long before, Reyna had used for the illustrated volumes.

She turned to look at him, a snare of surprise mixed with irritation printed on her face like an ultimatum. The boy was standing, the book that just before Reyna had given him still hold his hands, and stared, his lips slightly parted, at one of the many copies of _Harry Potter_ that the bookshop had.

The blonde opened his eyes wide. "Is it the version illustrated by Jim Kay?" he almost yelled, approaching the shelf and kneeling to observe the copy more closely. "It's beautiful! Is this also second-handed?" And, without waiting for a response from the girl, he laid _I Malavoglia_ on the ground and grabbed his new discovery, carefully flipping through the first pages. "What madman would give such a beautiful book away?" he asked himself, stroking with his fingertips a representation of an eleven-year-old Draco Malfoy in the center of Madama McClan's studio.

"Er," Reyna shook her head, lowering her gaze. "Actually," she muttered, "that book was mine."

"What?" The boy jumped, as if someone had made a bad joke to him, surprising him. "How–?" His blue eyes swung between her and the volume he still held in his hands, in disbelief. "I thought you... I mean," He sighed, lowering his head and inhaling deeply through his nose. "I thought you were a fan of beautiful books."

She nodded. "I am."

"So why would you want to give away such a beautiful one?"

Reyna shrugged her shoulders, implying that she simply didn't know. Perhaps she wanted others besides her to browse those pages and enjoy the magic contained in that book. Maybe she just forgot about a world that belonged to her as a child. Maybe, she just wanted to make more money from her business.

The problem was that Reyna knew very well why she had decided to sell that volume, and it wasn't any of them. She had not abandoned Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, her closest childhood friends. She had not driven a repulsive feeling of selfishness and greed and, for sure, she would have wanted to keep that book to herself, as one of her greatest treasures.

She sighed, trying to focus on the present moment and not on unpleasant memories that, as she had learned over time, were not helpful in improving the situation.

The boy approached her, the two books he had found under his left arm. "Well," he said, slightly bending his head to one side and breaking a little smile, "I would not want such a masterpiece to end up in the wrong hands." He chuckled, perhaps trying to lighten up her mood. "I'll take this too, then," he said finally, sure of his choice.

She nodded, and turned her back on him, walking to her desk.

She couldn't wait to be home, in her blankets and with a cup of steaming hot chocolate in her hand, reading one of her favorite books. She was tired and that day seemed as endless as it was stressful. She just wanted to see Malcolm, her best friend, and be hugged as they lay on the couch watching a shoddy movie, a moment before turning off the television and starting to talk until it was time to go home. And she wanted to sleep and shake from her body that feeling of impending disappointment she had at the moment.

She sat at the counter and stretched her arms toward the books the boy in front of her was giving her, carefully taking them in her hands. She examined them for a moment in search of the price she must have assigned to each book. "It's ten dollars, please," she said, looking up to look him in the eyes.

The boy raised his eyebrows. "Only? I thought–"

"It's a second-hand books shop," Reyna objected, pushing her lips together and placing the two volumes in a paper bag with the Olympus symbol on it, "I couldn't keep the same prices as when they were first bought, right?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "In my opinion," he muttered, "they are worth much more now. These are already-read books, right? Some are so old that the person who held them first may have died."

Reyna sat up from her chair and leaned over the counter with both hands, her palms firmly planted on the mahogany surface of the desk. "You're right," she admitted, though she didn't hint to smiles or signs of affection. "Many of these volumes belonged to my great-grandparents, or to some of their acquaintances."

"It's not just pages grouped together," the blond young man continued, running a hand through his hair. "They're pieces of history, now."

She watched him out of the corner of her eyes as she put on the twenty-dollar bill that he had given her in the crate and hurried to look for one for his change. He seemed like an interesting guy. She had never seen anyone so fond of books and attentive to detail. Not even Malcolm's sister Annabeth, one of the greatest nerds Reyna had ever known, had ever given her such a talk about the importance of second-hand books and their history.

When Reyna opened the Olympus, that was the first thing that came to her mind. Transmitting magic, history, culture, to all those who hadn't met them yet.

She smiled weakly, handing him the bag with _I Malavoglia_ and _Harry Potter_ inside of it, and his change. "Here you are," she said, as he grabbed with his steady hand what she was giving him.

"Thank you very much," he said, lighting his fresh face by smiling ear to ear. " For everything," he added, whispering.

"Thank _you_," Reyna repeated, as she did every time some customers were about to leave the store. "I hope to see you again soon."

When he was gone, Reyna picked up the book she was reading before he arrived. Only then did she realize she didn't even introduce herself. She sighed and was about to get up, when something on the surface of the desk caught her attention.

It was a yellowed paper note on which it was written, in a barely readable calligraphy: _My name is Jason Grace and I hope to see you soon, too. This is my number. Sometimes, call me._


	2. II - Sense and Sensibility

Hi everyone! I'm back from the dead again. I know I'm a terrible updater, but I hope you'll like this chapter at least. I tried to make it as fluff as possible, even though Jason and Reyna don't know each other very well yet, because, well, we all need more Jeyna fluff of course ahah. And I don't want to steal a lot of time from you so yeah, enjoy the chapter. Please, r&r if you want to!

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**Chapter II**

_**Sense and Sensibility**_

* * *

"You have never called me, in the end." The boy's sudden voice made her jump on her chair. She was lost in reading one of her favorite books and she must not have noticed the cleith of the bell on the door for that very reason. Jason Grace, the young man who two weeks earlier had bought her illustrated copy of _Harry Potter_, was in front of her, the palm of one hand resting on the smooth surface of the counter while, with a little too risky curiosity, studying her from above.

Reyna sharpened her gaze "Should I?" she asked, her tone between sincere and slightly annoyed. Not that she had anything against Jason. Absolutely. But it always bothered her when someone interrupted her while she was reading.

Jason laughed. "I don't know," he smiled, running his fingers through the neat tufts of his blond hair, cut short and carefully combed. "Did you feel like that?" He watched her for a few seconds as she tried to hide the cover of the book she was reading until a few minutes earlier. He seemed to be studying her, as if he had not memorized the color of her hair or eyes, yet.

The girl did not answer. She didn't want to tell him what she wanted or didn't want to do in her free time. Although, by assumption, this could include the point _Call Jason Grace_. By assumption. She put the book aside with as much restraint as possible as she looked into his eyes – so blue that they could strike fear.

"What were you reading?" he asked, the tone of his voice genuinely intrigued.

"Nothing." she hurried and replied, clearing her voice soon after. She put a tuft of hair behind her right ear as she calmly rose from the chair she had sat on just ten minutes earlier, when she had helped Nico search for another book by Edgar Allan Poe, his favorite author. "Can I help you? Do you need any particular titles?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Would you be offended if I said no?" He looked around for a moment, making sure there was no one nearby. Then, approaching her dangerously with such speed that he almost received a punch in the face, he whispered in her ear, "Actually, I just came to see you again. I mean, to talk to you a little bit."

Reyna felt her face begin to burn suddenly. _What?!_, she thought, trying to hide the blush on her cheeks. She sighed, shaking her head slightly and clearing her voice again, just to think of an answer that didn't make her sound stupid. "You don't even know me," she said, looking curiously at him. She raised an eyebrow, continuing to look him in the eye. "I mean," she said, "you don't even know my name, do you?"

The boy sighed, chuckling at himself. "No, you're not wrong," he admitted, bending his lips into a sincere smile. "I guess at this point, I'll never know, will I?"

She thought about it for a moment, enjoying that moment of glory he had given her. "You'll have to earn it."

"Just like knowing which book you were reading?"

Reyna nodded. "Just like knowing which book I was reading, exactly," she confirmed, sure that, anyway, no one would ever find out. Even the first time Malcolm had seen her read that book, years earlier, he couldn't guess the title. For a long time, she had simply known that, until then, she had read it three times and that it was definitely one of the books she appreciated the most. Titles such as _Crime and Punishment_, _Bel-Ami_, _The red and the black_ had come up, but he had never guessed before the girl confessed to him what book it was. He had never even come close.

"If you're looking for the title of the book Reyna reads compulsively," A voice emerged from the dim light of the fourth aisle of the ground floor. "It's _Pride and Prejudice_. Unbelievable, I know. I didn't want to believe it either."

"Nico!" Reyna cried, acknowledging her friend's cold but amused tone. Every now and then, he would come to see her at _Olympus_. Nico had been her friend for a long time before she had opened the bookstore, ever since they were teenagers struggling with the world of school hierarchy.

The boy stepped forward in slow strides, as if he were reluctant to the idea. Jason watched him walk up to two feet from Reyna's desk, throwing glances at him and then at the girl. "Sorry," Nico murmured, and he girl could hear a certain annoyance through his voice. Probably, Reyna said, he didn't like to be the center of attention. Above all, if the attention was paid by people he had never seen before. "I couldn't stand your bickering anymore."

The girl crossed her arms on her chest, rolling her eyes in a mute _C'mon, Nico, that was my time_. "Jason, this is Nico di Angelo, a friend of mine." She wanted to add something like _Or at least, he has been until now_, but she realized that she would lie. Terribly. So, she said nothing, and merely watched one of his best friends shake hands with a complete stranger she had spoken to only once in her entire life.

"So," Jason turned to look at her, a sly smile printed on his face as a guarantee that, this time, she could not escape. He came up to her in one step, looking at her in the eyes. "Your name is Reyna." He smiled, running a hand through his hair to adjust his locks that had fallen to his forehead. "And you read _Pride and Prejudice_," he stated, studying her with those eyes that were lighter than the sky.

"I was traumatized the first time, yes," Nico intruded, glancing at Reyna with approval before resuming the reading of the book he still held in his hands. _The black cat_, as usual.

Jason shook his slightly and smiled at the boy. "Yeah," he muttered, turning to look at her with a look that embarrassed her slightly. For a moment, his sky blue eyes embarrassed her a bit, making her feel as if she were a museum piece. "I didn't expect a book so... romantic, actually." He raised an eyebrow, smiling at her a bit.

Reyna shrugged her shoulders. "It's a classic of literature," she justified herself, as she lowered hes gaze to hide the blush on her cheeks that, she could feel it, was spreading faster and faster. "And," she resumed, as soon as she was certain that she had calmed down, "I have to wait until next month for a new book to appear, since I have already spent too much." How many times had that happened to her! Reyna had thought a lot of times about taking one of the books from the shelves of Olympus and getting to read, but she couldn't. Those books were for the customers, not for herself.

Nico shrugged, bending his face into an expression screaming, _If you say so_. Then, after a moment of silence, he turned on his heels and, resuming the reading, returned to his corridor where, Reyna was sure, he would sit on the sofa in the middle of the shelves, his favorite place in the bookstore.

The girl sighed, being forced to continue the conversation. She could feel herself blush again and, reluctantly, this time she could not hide his face. _Damn!_ "Then, Jason," she said, her voice clear, "now that you've discovered my darkest secrets, you know all about me. You have nothing left to discover."

"I don't think so," he laughed, tucking one hand into his jeans pocket and the other in his hair. _Alright_, Reyna said in her head. Even if he had noticed her blush, he had said nothing about it. "I still have a lot to understand, you know. You don't seem like an easy person to approach." He smiled, and did so sincerely.

She decided to drop that conversation that was, for all intents and purposes, degenerating. "How's the reading of _I Malavoglia_ going?" she asked instead, leaning against the counter and placing her braid on her right shoulder.

"Pretty well, I'd say. The pages smell of ancient paper. It's always a pleasure to pick it up, even if my work doesn't allow me much."

"I guess. There is never enough time to read all of what we would like to read." Reyna knew. Even working in a place that directly focused on reading, it was always difficult to reconcile the pleasure of a few pages with all the things she had to do. Especially, when working without any kind of physical or economic help.

"That's right!" Jason exclaimed, looking into her eyes. "You don't know how many books I still have on my to-be-read list. And it never stops growing, really. Every time I finish a book, there's always another book I can't help but buy." He turned to look at the hallways separated from the shelves, studying the natural light in the room, which came directly from the windows at the back and from those on the upper floor. "Do you mind if I take a look? I know I shouldn't, but..."

"Go ahead," she replied, nodding her head. As soon as he walked away, the girl breathed a sigh of frustration as she picked up her book, ready to meet for the umpteenth time Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy, the wealthy owner of Pemberley.

Still, she couldn't read a single line without being distracted: a fly fluttering around her, a customer in the historical essays department talking on the phone, the whisper of Nico's music breaking free at full volume from his headphones, shouting "Hell's Bells" at every beat.

She shook her head slightly, and brought a hand to her forehead to check whether the unbearable heat was due to fever. She sat at her desk, wondering what Malcolm would say to her at the time to make her relax. Probably, she said, with a nervous smile that no one noticed, he would whisper that she was _the strongest and most independent woman I've ever known_, and then he would give her one of those annoying kisses on the cheek.

It was only when Jason reappeared from one of the corridors of the ground floor that Reyna was unable to hear all those soft, but at the same time so deafening noises. "So," she asked, "Have you found anything to add to your to-be-read list?" she smiled, automatically bringing a hand to the long soft braid on her right shoulder and braiding a tuft of hair with her index finger.

The boy shrugged his shoulders and smiled slyly. "To be honest," he began, showing her the book he held tightly in his right hand, "it's not _my_ to-be-read list I will add this book to."

She glanced at him questioningly, wondering what he wanted to say. "Do I need to prepare a gift box?"

"Only if you want." Jason placed the book on the counter, making her read the title: _The Woman in White_. Reyna couldn't even remember when she added it to the shelves of Olympus. It was supposed to be one of those volumes that she had bought at the time of the opening, and that none of the customers had ever bought. "Wilkie Collins is one of my favorite authors, and this book is his masterpiece, at least in my opinion. I hope..." He paused for a moment to catch his breath and looked her in the eye. "I hope you'll enjoy reading it."

Reyna raised her eyebrows and hatched her lips, slightly lifting her chin. "Wait, what?"

"You said you wanted to save money, and that's why you had to deal with books you had already read." The boy smiled at her sincerely, putting on the counter, along with the slightly worn black-covered book, a twenty-dollar bill. "So I thought I'd make you a present."

She reached out to her left shoulder, trying to stop that annoying heartbeat that was getting faster and stronger, so much stronger that, for a millisecond, Reyna was afraid that even Jason might feel it. "But- Jason, I don't think I can accept it."

"Of course you can. And keep the change."

"But—"

"Do it for me, please. In return, I'll only ask you one thing."

Reyna sighed, and decided to surrender to the boy's claims in front of her. Although she felt slightly guilty about accepting a gift from a near-unknown boy, she didn't want to retort again. And... "What is it?"

"The only thing I'll ask you is that, this time, you promise to call me, when you have time." Jason smiled, and his blue eyes lit up in such a bright light that it could hurt your soul. He reached out to her, approaching one step and bending slightly toward the counter.

Reyna hesitated a few moments. Then, she stretched out her arm and shook his hand with a firm handshake. "Deal," she said, smiling and looking into his eyes. After all, she thought, maybe they could become good friends.


	3. III - Swann's Way

In these months I've been away from posting Jeyna fics, I've finished high school, taken my diploma, and started working. So, I guess I'm officially an adult now (even though - of course - I haven't finished studying, as I still have to go to university). And oh gosh, it's so weird! I hope I'll still have time to spread Jeyna because the world lacks of it. So yeah, this is the third chapter of _Olympus_. I hope you like it. It's a bit different from the others, and we have few Jason scenes, but I hope I will redeem myself thanks to the next chapter I've written for this fic. There's fluff (kinda). Enjoy!

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**Chapter III**

_**Swann's Way**_

* * *

Reyna took another bite from her slice of tart, smelling the sweet scent of hot chocolate, which was, according to Malcolm, totally out of season. _"We're in July," _he always said, "_don't you think all these hot drinks can hurt you?"_

"So?" In front of her, sitting across the kitchen peninsula of her apartment on the outskirts of San Francisco, Nico di Angelo raised an eyebrow. They hadn't spoken in a while, and the girl missed their long chats about Edgar Allan Poe and Guy de Maupassant. And that's why, after he had finished to study for another exam of his sophomore year at San Francisco University, Reyna had invited him to have coffee together.

She shrugged her shoulders as she enjoyed the cherries jam Hazel had made for her a few weeks earlier. "So what?" she asked, grabbing a napkin to wipe out the crumbs that had got stuck on her lips.

"How's it going with that friend of yours?" The boy looked at her curiously from behind his cup of espresso, which he himself had taught Reyna to prepare with the typical coffee machine that she had often seen in films set in Italy. Nico shrugged his shoulders, disappearing for a moment in his black jersey.

Reyna immediately felt like her face was going to burn. A pair of blue eyes, neat blonde locks and a curious scar on the lips came to her mind like a flash, so fast it made her head spin. She shook her head, trying to take that thought out of her mind, and she cleared her voice, looking up at his friend. "Malcolm is fine. I think he just finished his three months as an intern in the bes–"

"I meant... your other friend. That blonde who occasionally comes to the bookstore to _talk a little_." Nico emphasized the last three words by mimicking quotation marks with his fingers. He drank some more of his coffee as, with the most careless gesture Reyna had ever seen, he shrugged his shoulders, smiling slyly. "I think his name is Jason, right? I saw you two together this morning."

The girl felt she was blushing again and, reluctantly, she was forced to hide her face behind her cup of hot chocolate, pretending to sip it with gusto and interest. "I... Yes, er..." She paused for a moment to catch her breath and control her thoughts. "We only talked a little bit. He had to go to work at eleven o'clock, so he couldn't stay much."

She nodded to herself, trying to convince herself that there was nothing strange or embarrassing. In the end, they had only talked.

"He just told me about his day yesterday. He told me about his work and asked me if I liked _The Woman in White._" The girl shrugged her shoulders, trying to remember in detail what had happened with the boy, to tell Nico.

_"Marian Halcombe's character is one of my favorites in all English literature," _he told her.

"_Mine is Jane Eyre, actually," _she replied, thinking back to how much she liked the novel she read many years ago. She still perfectly remembered the great feeling of unconditional esteem she had felt towards that woman who had been so strong at a time when strong women were poorly seen by society. "_When_ _I was a teenager, she was the role model I liked to follow._"

_"Actually," _he whispered, looking down on the stack of books on Reyna's desk, "_I_ _never read_ Jane Eyre."

The girl wiggled her nose, glancing at him. "_Is_ _there a particular reason? You don't like Charlotte Bronte, maybe?"_ She asked. For a moment, she was even afraid that he might say that he didn't like the kind of stories in which the author's feminism is felt beyond the thicket of centuries gone by. That he wasn't... feminist, in fact.

Reyna paused from her description of her morning, rethinking about how, for a moment, she had felt let down by her high expectations. She wasn't a girl who let herself be fooled by expectations – indeed, it usually took months for her to get an idea of the people she spoke to or had to spend her time with daily – but she had high hopes for Jason Grace.

She had seen him cautiously wandering through the dusty shelves of Olympus, talked to him about books and hobbies, even heard each other at the phone once or twice, and never that boy had given her the impression of being a guy to get away from.

Nico raised an eyebrow as he stealthily grabbed one of the almond biscuits Reyna had purchased that morning for him. The boy had tried to disprove it several times, but she continued to believe that those cookies were her friend's favorites. "And what did he say instead?" he asked, genuinely interested.

The girl chuckled to herself, raising her eyes to the sky. "He told me that he was afraid that it might be like _Wuthering Heights."_

"_I didn't like it very much,"_ he confessed, as he shrugged his shoulders, "_I_ _think I didn't quite understand what the author meant to say, actually."_ Jason tilted his head, studying the girl in front of him with such attention that she felt, for a few seconds, under pressure.

"_I __know," _she replied, relieved, as she shook her head to try to abandon that feeling.

Reyna shook her head, remembering that, at that moment, she was afraid that she had smiled a little too long, and that Jason had noticed. But she didn't tell Nico. Who knows what strange ideas he would have made if she had told him even a small part of _that_.

"_I preferred other novels, too, but I appreciate Emily Bronte's commitment to the literary affirmation of the Byronic hero._"

_"Yes, well," _he shrugged, looking at her straight in the eye. "_I've read various essays on the hidden meaning of that book. One in particular had struck me. It explained how the reader should interpret the novel as a ghost story, and not something that really happened, like the de–"_

"_The description of what might happen if all the injustices that happened to the protagonists really happened in real life."_ Reyna couldn't help but interrupt him. "_I love that interpretation," s_he explained then, noticing his surprised look, "_I think it was that review that made me read the book."_ In fact, she was certain.

She remembered the little girl who, to escape her family's myriad problems, accompanied Hylla to study in the library. She remembered the wonder she had felt the first time she had seen that immense multitude of volumes, and the joy of taking one in her hands. And she remembered all the afternoons she spent reading essays and lectures on the classics of literature; falling in love with them without ever having read them.

Talking to Jason was refreshing. In the end, those were the best memories of her childhood, and bringing them back to mind in such a genuine way really pleased her.

"You talked of literature, then?" Nico raised an eyebrow again, making her realize that what she wanted to know was anything but that.

The girl instinctively turned her gaze towards her copy of _The Woman in white_ resting on the kitchen table, opened on page three hundred and twenty-seven, in the middle of a decisive dialogue between Miss Halcombe and Count Fosco. "Not really," she muttered, looking at her friend in the face. "We also talked about work, and how this period is going in general."

"Uh-uh?" Nico commented, with a scornful hint in his voice, earning a bad look from his friend, "And you just talked about that?" he added soon after, unhurriedly. He smiled, biting into his third almond biscuit. The girl mentally promised to buy another pack, the next time Nico came to visit her.

Reyna didn't answer. She didn't want to reveal too many futily details, especially since Nico seemed to want to extract some information from her, as if it were a war mission. She knew he was doing it on good terms, but, at least in her opinion, there was nothing strange, embarrassing, nor even mischievous in what she and Jason had said to each other that morning. There was no reason to worry.

She appreciated the boy's concern, seriously. But there was no reason for him to fear that Jason might hurt her, for the moment. After all, they barely knew each other, they had spoken most of the time only about the bookstore, and, above all, Reyna was not an easy girl to approach. Those who knew her knew it very well. Even Malcolm, her best friend, had to work a long way before he could get a place in the life of that mysterious student at the school of journalism.

_Yes, _the girl said to herself, _it was a very normal conversation I could have had with any costumer._ She tried to remember what happened only a few hours before, sifting through facts and words, and looking for the nitpick, trying to understand what was so abnormal that Nico found in that conversation.

They just talked. Just talk. Well, maybe the fact that Jason had never taken his eyes off her and that, just before he left, he brought her an envelope from the tastiest pastry she knew, whispering, "_Ah, I brought you breakfast. Brioche with pistachio and a black tea. I hope you don't mind," _but Reyna decided to ignore it and simply continue with her story.

She cleared her voice as, looking as confident as she could, she sipped her hot chocolate. "He told me about his work as a political informant for one of the minor local newspapers. Apparently, the quality of such a job also depends very much on the quality of colleagues."

_"Luckily, we're almost all friends: me, Leo, Piper, and even Frank, a little. We work very well together and, for now, I'm happy this way," _he told her, shrugging his shoulders and curving his lips into a crooked smile.

Nico made no comment – thankfully, he seemed to have given up – but he asked, in a tone that, at least in appearance, seemed genuinely interested, "Why _for now?_ Would he like to change jobs?" He looked at her with one eye, as if he were studying her.

The girl suddenly felt observed, as if her friend wanted to understand something that she had omitted from her narration. _He knows, _the back of her head suggested, an unwanted information that the girl hurried to drive away, telling the conversation with as much nonchalance as she could show.

Reyna nodded. "He told me that, after studying political science for five years, it would be pointless to give up a diplomatic career altogether, even if, to be honest, it is not what he has always aspired to."

"Really?" the boy asked, tilting his head to one side, while his too long locks of black hair rested all along the perimeter of his face.

"It was his father who recommended that faculty to him once he finished high school, even though Jason wanted to study other things."

"_I_ _wanted to change society, yes, but without necessarily being a politician. I'd like to do what you do: sell books and spread culture._" And then he asked her about her, what she was doing and what she was going to do with her future.

Of course, the girl hadn't told Jason everything, as she always considered it risky to make certain confidences to people she barely knew. However, she had not lied to him once, and she had been sincere both in terms of her origins and studies, as well as regarding her hopes and future projects, what she intended to do with the bookstore and her aspirations – writing for _San Francisco Chronicles_ and traveling to the places she had discovered in her favorite books.

Reyna sighed, bringing back to mind all the times that Jason Grace had kept her company in the days that, without his presence, would surely have been more boring, and smiled to herself. In the end, she admitted to herself, that boy wasn't that bad. Sure, she thought with a chuckle, he hadn't read _Jane Eyre, _but you can't always look for perfection in people, can you? And, omitting Nico's inappropriate comments (to which she had already decided not to give importance), the girl sincerely believed that, with some time, they could become good friends.

She placed his hand on the smooth, cold surface of her kitchen peninsula as she watched her friend's microscopic movements. "I think…" she murmured, looking for words suitable for what she was going to say. "I think I'm comfortable with him, you know..." In a second, she almost regretted saying it out loud: it sounded so secret and _intimate._ For a moment, she was afraid that Nico might joke about it, making some bad jokes. But that wasn't the case.

"I'm happy for you," the boy simply replied, shrugging his shoulders. Reyna thought she saw him hint at a smile, like a victory song, but that mink disappeared so quickly that she had to think again, thinking it was just her imagination. "Seriously, Reyna."

She smiled, feeling her own body fill with tenderness. Nico was, to her, like a little brother, and his approval – for whatever she did – was really important. Although that thing was as simple as, in fact, meeting a nice, interesting guy, that is, a guy who attended Olympus regularly. "Thank you, Nico," she muttered, picking up her cup of hot chocolate, which had cooled too much by now. "And I'm sure Jason would tell you this too," she joked, hiding behind a new piece of tart and yet another sip of chocolate.


	4. IV - Good Wives

Hi everyone again! It has been less than a month since I posted my last fic and I'm posting again? Unbelievable, I know. I have been in a big writing mood lately, and I'm so happy for this! I have already outlined all the chapters for this fic, and I have so many ideas for new ones as well ahh. This chapter was fun to write; there's a lot of Jason and Reyna as friends, as well as them being dorks! I really hope you'll like it. Let me know what you think of this chapter in a review, if you want to; I love reading your comments and they motivate me to continue writing. You'd also make my day!

* * *

**Chapter IV**

_**Good Wives**_

* * *

The girl looked in the mirror for the last time. She carefully observed the folds of the dress, the midnight blue color of the fabric in contrast to the bright white of her pearl necklace, and she made sure that the crown braid in which she had settled her hair had not become too messy.

"Wow." Malcolm's voice, standing on her bedroom door, made her turn around. "You didn't tell me that this event was so important," the boy admitted, hiding behind an encouraging smile a blatant little jealousy, the one you always feel when you see someone you care about taking an important step without you.

Reyna shrugged her shoulders, grabbing the bag that until then lay motionless on the mattress and checking that everything she needed was inside. "It's not," she lied, trying to hide the flicker of her voice.

Apparently, Malcolm didn't notice it, because he didn't say anything about it, but he just watched her as she hurriedly tucked into the black clutch the crimson red lipstick she had bought for the occasion.

"It's a simple lecture on a book I've read, nothing special," she tried to explain, looking up to look his friend in the eye. "Don't worry," she joked, smiling slightly at him as she ran to slip her black stiletto-heeled shoes on, a gift from her mother a few years earlier, for her degree in Journalism. Reyna sighed, shaking her head slightly as she tried to figure out what she should do now that she was ready.

She and Jason had decided to meet in front of her bookstore, and she should be there in fifteen minutes. _Well, I'm early, _she said in her head, trying to reassure herself.

She turned to look at Malcolm, who still stared at her in a perplexed look, and nodded her head, shrugging her shoulders and standing still. "See you later," she said in a calm, soft-spoken tone, through which you could overhear a certain emotion, "And thank you for offering to take care of Aurum and Argentum while I'm away, really. At night they are very restless at times, and Nico already had other things to do..."

The boy shrugged his shoulders. "No problem," he smiled, pointing to the two dogs stretching in their kennels, enjoying the nap before dinner. "Come back soon."

She smiled. "I will."

* * *

By the time she got to the bookstore, Jason was already waiting for her. Leaning back on the wall of the building, he peered into the street in front of him, where a row of cars lay parked next to the sidewalk. In the distance, an ambulance siren pulled away from the city centre, rushing to the nearest hospital, while, closer, a group of university students laughed loudly as they walked quickly to the first pub.

Reyna cleared her voice before speaking. "You came early," she noted, as the boy, gasping, turned to look at her.

He widened his lips in a spontaneous smile, while his blue eyes studied her face which, with make-up, looked very different from usual. "I didn't want to be late," he apologized, taking a few steps toward her as he offered her his arm with a smile.

"No, thank you." The girl shrugged her shoulders, looking at him in the eyes. The expression on his face suddenly changed, making him look dubious, but he still seemed compliant. "I'm sorry," she added quickly – she didn't want him to be disappointed or offended, especially at the beginning of their dat– I mean, of that evening, "I prefer to simply walk side by side. It looks more_ authentic._ If that's okay with you."

Jason run his hand through his hair, placing it on his forehead. "Of course," he agreed, "no problem."

Reyna waited a few minutes before speaking. "I didn't expect anyone besides you to love Wilkie Collins so much that they wanted to organize a lecture on one of his books," she admitted, raising her head to look the boy in the eye.

He shrugged his shoulders, smiling slightly as he turned a little towards her and reciprocated her gaze with loving and innocent eyes. "I was surprised too," he said, approaching her a few inches, "But I'm glad someone's out there doing so. And most of all, I'm glad I can go with you." Jason blushed suddenly, as if he realized what he said only shortly after the words had come out of his lips. "You know, to talk about our opinions and ideas," he hurried to add, hiding his face in the twilight.

Reyna waited a few seconds before agreeing with him. "Yeah," she said, her gaze fixed just in front of her. "I just hope I won't be disappointed. You know," she said, knowing from experience that she was right, "many times these events emphasize what's already obvious. Well, I just hope this evening doesn't turn out to be too obvious."

Next to her, Jason smiled softly as he watched, in front of him, the din of the city die little by little as the rush hour became more and more distant. "I hope not."

It didn't take long to get to the theatre where the event was to take place. After all, it was only six hundred yards from where Reyna worked, tucked between the meeting room of one of the city's busiest banks and a building that was still under construction, hidden by scaffolding. The girl had to admit that she had never been there. She had walked over and over in front of the small historical theatre, and had tried again and again to imagine its interior, but she had never been able to actually see it, also because the entrance was reserved for members of its book club, and, unfortunately, she had never had time to join.

"Good evening. Do you have a card?" the man who was at the entrance to the theatre asked. He was fully clothed, with bow ties and a tailcoat, and stood to his full height behind a table where leaflets and catalogues of the theatre program had been carefully stored.

Reyna was ready to step in, trying to find a valid excuse not to have to show the man something she didn't actually own. She stepped forward, heading decisively towards the table and trying to think, think, think.

She was about to open her mouth and to put in place the plan that had just come to her mind (which, in fact, consisted only of admitting that she was not part of the book club, and kindly asking the gentleman to sign them up right away), when she felt Jason's hand grab her arm with determination and sweetness, silently telling her _I tell him, don't worry_.

The boy approached the elegant gentleman cautiously, rummaged for a few seconds in the right pocket of his jacket and then, with a fluid movement, pulled out two tiles with a golden surface on which was printed, in black and white, the photo of _Apollo and Daphne, _Bernini's wonderful statue representing the Greek myth.

"This is mine," Jason said, placing one of the two cards under the man's eyes, "and this is for the lady."

The gentleman sat a glance at both of them from behind his glasses, then bent down to write something about what looked like an inventory and, in a solemn voice, he invited the two friends to come in and sit at one of the boxes, the one reserved for them. "Good evening, Mr. Grace. Miss Ramirez." He winked at her before turning, in the same earnest tone with which he had addressed them, to the family waiting for their turn behind them.

Reyna hurried to follow her friend who, without saying a word, had headed for the heavy red velvet curtain that separated the atrium from the audience. "When did you…?" she asked, still surprised.

He stopped in front of one of the entrances of the first-floor boxes and moved the tent, inviting her to go first. "This morning. I had some time off work, so I came by and signed up both you and me. Another excuse to see us a little more often. Here," he said, giving her her subscription to the theater on which the inscriptions _Ms Reyna Ramirez-Arellano _were written. "I hope you don't mind."

Reyna didn't even wonder if he was referring to the card, or seeing her more often. "No, it's okay, but you didn't have to." She took the paper and tucked it into the inner pocket of her bag. "Thank you," she sated to add then, sitting in the armchair reserved for her.

A few minutes during which they listened attentively to the murmur that, from the audience a few meters below their feet, became more and more intense, and finally the lights of the theatre went out while, with decisive steps, a group of four people approached the seats arranged on the stage as they were in a talk show. The set-up was rather graceful, with dim lights that illuminated the presenters' faces, velvet armchairs and vintage lamps scattered here and there in a warm yellow.

The speakers sat down, while a sweet melody emitted by the keys of a piano hovered from the back of the stage, silenced even the spectators who, restless, had never stopped muttering and whispering phrases like "Excuse me, can you tell me what time it is?" or "What time does the show start?".

The first speaker, a boy in his thirties, with long brown hair gathered in an ordered bun, crossed his legs and, taking hold of the microphone, began to speak. "Wilkie Collins" he whispered in the device, shrugging his shoulders. "Failed lawyer and tea merchant." The boy looked up at the audience, while the piano behind him resumed, after a short break, to interpret in a completely original way one of Reyna's favorite pieces, _Etude 10 no 3 _ by Chopin. "But above all, one of the most influential writers of the second half of the nineteenth century."

The girl turned a few millimeters towards the boy next to her, just enough to observe him with the corner of her eye without being noticed. Looking dazed on the stage, Jason sat in his armchair with his back straight and his hands resting on the parapet of the ball, and they looked relaxed on the velvet that seemed to cover any surface in that theater. With his face hidden by the dim light and the light that illuminated only part of his face, highlighting his clear blue eyes, high forehead, and marked features, Reyna found herself thinking, reluctantly, that the young man sitting next to her looked almost like one of those Roman statues representing the most glorious emperors in history.

She studied the situation for a few seconds, making sure that she had placed the bag well, and that the dress was not wrinkled; she had a tuft of hair that had escaped her hairstyle behind her right ear. Only after doing all this, strictly following the pattern that a few seconds before she had set out, did she bring her eyes back to the show.

She shouldn't have.

"Oh no," she muttered to herself, almost without realizing it. She hoped Jason hadn't heard – after all, she couldn't ruin his night as well, but apparently the boy didn't miss anything.

"What is it?" he asked, turning slightly towards her. He raised an eyebrow, as if to investigate the girl's face, which, however, did not let any decisive information leak. "Something's wrong?"

Reyna shook her head. "Yes... No, nothing. I..." She sighed, turning to the young man next to her and taking a frank tone. "One of the speakers is a former college classmate of mine," she admitted, trying not to raise her voice too much. She glanced at the stage as the pianist, immersed in his dimness, played the last notes of what appeared to be an introductory piece. There was no doubt about it. It was him.

Jason frowned. "Wouldn't you like to see him again? Come on, he can't be that bad."

"Can't be that bad? Jason, Octavian was one of my biggest problems during those years; I wouldn't be surprised if–"

"Still," a new voice from the stage proclaimed, "can we really consider this man a _writer?_ Or should we rather see him only as an envious incompetent who found in his novels the only consolation to his social and financial problems?"

That's right.

_"What?" _Jason almost cried, squinting. "Tell me I haven't heard what I just heard."

The girl shrugged her shoulders, bending her head towards her friend and assuming an expression on which a clear _Told you_ was readable_._ "You heard just that. I told you," she explained with an almost imperceptible shake of her head, "Octavian is like that." She shook her head, displeased by the situation, which was becoming increasingly absurd. "I'm sorry, I usually try to contain myself, but I just can't stand that guy."

"Also because, nothing personal, he keeps saying absurd things," he agreed, visibly confused.

Reyna stood silent for a moment, trying to figure out what she should do. After all, she had waited so long for that evening to come: the confrontation with an external point of view, discovering new allegories and new meanings hidden in the pages of _The Woman in White_, the explanation of an expert in Collins's life – these were all the things she had done nothing but think about in the last few days, while a lukewarm trepidation began to gain more and more space in her chest. After all, she told herself, _that_ was what she had come for.

She sighed, being forced to admit that, however that night would go from that moment on, that evening could only be disappointing. With Octavian Augustus, the most polemical, self-centered, victimistic human being Reyna had ever had the misfortune to meet, as a speaker, nothing could go well.

Still, she almost felt that a small part of her, in the back of her head, wanted _to stay._ A childish laziness was suggesting she stay there, her gaze fixed on the stage, her legs slumped and her mind empty, and suffer the insults that her former classmate was vomiting over Wilkie Collins.

But what surprised her the most was that, while the shrill voice coming from the stage stated that "I've never seen worse prose", when Jason asked:

"So, are you hungry? Would you like to go and eat something?"

Reyna replied:

"Definitely."


End file.
